


Be The One

by dearly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2566736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearly/pseuds/dearly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly, now living in Scotland, has just ended a long relationship. After receiving word about an accident involving Sherlock, she returns to London and rediscovers old feelings that are stronger than ever. Set eight years after the end of S3E3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A blast of cold air blew through the automatic doors of the hospital catching Molly off-guard. She drew her coat more tightly around her body and pulled on her knitted woolen hat, which she had luckily remembered to grab on her way out the door that morning. Even though the cold was to be expected at this time of year, she was still mentally unprepared for the sudden change in temperature since she had spent the whole day in her warm and cozy office finishing up her research paper.

After being confined indoors all day with the hospital smells of chemicals and disinfectant, it felt invigorating to breathe in the crisp air. She paused a moment to take it in. Most people she knew complained when the cold weather arrived, but she loved it. It energized her and made her feel alive.

The twilight had turned the sky a brilliant dark blue and the horizon glowed in the distance. It was that transitional period of the day when anything seemed possible. October had arrived which meant she often went without seeing the sun for days at a time. Unless she was on a late shift, most days it was dark both ways of her commute. But Molly loved Scotland at this time of year. When she wasn't at work, she tried to soak in the autumn sights and smells as much as possible. Everything turned golden and there was a beautiful bleakness that added a romance to the stark landscape. She took weekend trips to the coast or the highlands as often as possible just to breathe the fresh air and hike the ancient landscape. Soon winter would arrive and the unpredictable weather and dreariness would force her to stay home. Autumn, though, was her favorite season for being outdoors.

Even though Glasgow would never feel like  _home_ , it certainly wasn't a bad place to live. One aspect of her life in the city that she loved most was living close enough to the university hospital that she could walk. It was her chance to unwind after a long day in the morgue. After being surrounded by death all day, it was always a nice change of pace to see the signs of life in the neighborhood: the children laughing as they played in the park, the dogs barking as she passed by their gates, the uni students chatting animatedly as they walked to class, the conversations floating in the air outside busy pubs. While she loved her job, it was nice to get away at the end of the day and leave it behind. Aaron never understood how she could work in pathology and be so cheery, but then he was a cardiologist so he was used to keeping people alive, not figuring out why they died.

_Aaron…shit_. She had almost forgotten about their plans. He was stopping by to pick up the rest of his belongings that were still at her flat. She dug her phone out of her bag to check the time. There were a few minutes to spare but she was going to have to pick up the pace.  _So much for a leisurely stroll home_.

Molly arrived at her flat out of breath. Toby greeted her at the door as always begging to be fed. He may not move as quickly as he used to since he had grown old and fat, but he was as predictable as always. At the last vet appointment, she had been scolded for overfeeding him and the vet had put him on a strict diet. If only Dr. Turner could see his face right now. Molly felt like even he would have a hard time refusing him. Toby was so easy to spoil.

She kicked off her shoes and filled his dish. "Here you go, sweetie. A nice bowl of diet food." Toby looked unimpressed but devoured it anyways. He finished and immediately pleaded for more. "Sorry honey, you know what the doctor said."

Molly shrugged off her coat and poured herself a glass of wine just as the doorbell rang. She looked over at the cardboard box sitting by the door, took a deep breath, and pressed the buzzer to let him in.  _This was it_.  _The end._  It was almost a relief to have it over with, but she was still not looking forward to the conversation.

With a cautious smile, she opened the door. Aaron was standing there gravely, his blond hair shone in the light of the hallway. He had a solemn expression that was unreadable.

"Come on in."

He hesitated and looked as if he might refuse, but stepped inside.

"Can I get you some wine?"

"No, thanks." He crossed his arms nervously and seemed to stand farther away from her than was necessary.

"I think I've gathered up everything." Molly pointed to the box which contained some of his clothes, a toothbrush, and CDs and books that she'd borrowed at various times through the years. Even though he had moved out some time ago, she still had managed to find traces of him while cleaning her flat. This was the last of it. The only things she would have left now were memories.

Aaron nodded and an awkward silence followed.

"Come sit down." Molly walked over to the far side of the couch, expecting Aaron to join her. Instead, he sat in the chair across the room, not even bothering to remove his coat. He seemed unable to look her in the eye and instead focused on his hands that were clenched in his lap.

Molly cleared her throat trying to force down the sadness that had suddenly taken a hold of her. She thought she had moved past this, but it was just so hard to see him like this. Goodbyes never were easy, but he seemed to be struggling with it worse than she had originally thought.

"Look, Aaron, I'm really sorry about…everything. I hope you can understand my reasons and that we can still be friends."

Aaron swallowed, still looking down at his hands. He seemed to be considering his answer with great care.

"I thought things were going to be different, Molls. I thought-" his voice caught and Molly could see the pain on his face. She felt awful because she remembered when they were happy and planning their future and now that was no longer happening. In the end, she couldn't give him what he wanted. About halfway through their relationship a small voice inside told her that he wasn't the one. She was able to ignore it for a while, but it only continued to grow until one day she simply couldn't deny it any longer. They just weren't on the same page and she had to be honest with him.

"I know, Aaron. I did too."

Molly thought back to the time they met six and a half years ago.  _Had it really been that long?_  The memories flooded her brain. London. Bart's. Sherlock.

_Sherlock_.

* * *

Moran was dead.

After nearly a year of terrorizing London, he had finally been brought down and his network dismantled. He had orchestrated the Moriarty hacking to scare the entire city and also to bring Sherlock back with the intention of publicly humiliating him. Although there were times when Moran seemed to be in control and evade capture, Sherlock outwitted him in the end just as he had with Moriarty. It had taken a year of diligent work, but at the end of it all Sherlock was once again considered a hero. The authorities, however, had not forgotten about the killing of Magnussen. Sherlock was placed on house arrest for six months after Moran was caught as a delayed punishment. There had been a public outcry. Magnussen was hated by many and Sherlock had taken out the threat of Moran, but the government officials did not want to seem lenient for a murder charge. At first there had been talk of sending him off to Europe once again, but Mycroft and Lady Smallwood were able to get the sentence changed. For a man like Sherlock used to being active and always on the move, it was almost a crueler punishment. Even though he would never admit it, Molly knew that Mycroft did it with his brother's safety in mind. He loved his brother no matter what either said. She could see it. Once Sherlock served his time, he would be free once again and the matter would be over.

During this period, Molly didn't see Sherlock much. During the Moran case, he was always busy. When it was over, she was only allowed at Baker Street a couple times a month due to strict visitor limits. At first, she had been diligent and visited him as often as possible. It was a little intimidating, as there had to be guards in the room. Personal conversations were out of the question, but they talked about their work and spent happy hours together. Molly brought him presents in the form of leftover organs and blood samples from Bart's, which he was very appreciative of. She knew he was suffering from boredom due to his casework being extremely limited by his situation.

After a couple of months though, Molly noticed a change in Sherlock. He became more withdrawn. He spoke less and when he did he seemed agitated. Molly couldn't understand this sudden change. Was he just tired of being confined? They had always been so open with each other so it seemed unusual. One day after being frustrated by his moodiness she asked him directly what was wrong.

"I don't think you should come here anymore, Molly."

Molly couldn't help but be surprised. He had never refused to see her in all the years she'd known him. "Why?"

"You just shouldn't." His jaw clenched.

"Did I do something wrong?" She glanced over at the man standing guard by the door. He was looking straight ahead and either not listening or trying to give them space.

"No. This is just me telling you not to come anymore." Sherlock's blue eyes stared straight through her. Though his words sounded harsh, he didn't look angry. He seemed more sad than anything.

"Why? What did I do?"

"Nothing."

"Well, you must have a reason."

"Does everything have to have a reason? Maybe I just don't want you to come here anymore."

"You can't just decide something like that. You obviously have a reason that you're not telling me. Something has caused this and I want to know what it is."

Sherlock stood up and picked up his violin. He began to absentmindedly pluck at the strings.

Molly stood and crossed her arms. "I'm waiting for an answer."

Sherlock looked at her. "Perhaps you shouldn't." He was in one of his difficult moods and was obviously not going to give an answer that she wanted. Molly grabbed her coat and started to leave.

"I'll find out what this is about." As soon as she walked out the door, the sounds of a mournful tune floated through the hallway.

Her mobile rang immediately as she arrived at her flat. It was John.

"Molly, have you seen Sherlock yet?" His voice sounded worried.

"Yes I just got back from visiting him. What is up with him? He basically just threw me out for no reason."

"Oh bugger. I had hoped to warn you."

"Warn me about what?"

"Sherlock told me about this last night. He's trying to protect you."

"Protect me from  _what_?"

"From danger. From getting hurt. Look something happened during the Moran case…" A child's cry in the background interrupted him.

"What happened?"

"Sorry Moll, I've got to go. Amelia just managed to knock over the entire container of milk and Mary isn't here. I think Sherlock should be the one to tell you anyways…" He hung up before Molly could ask what he meant.

_John told me something happened during the Moran case. Is this what today was about? - MH_

Sherlock didn't respond to the text. Nor did he respond to her voice mail. She was not able to visit him for another two weeks so she was forced to wait.

Exactly two weeks later she received a response.

_Come over and I will explain. - SH_

* * *

Sherlock was seated in his chair when Molly entered. He was wearing a dark blue dressing gown and his hands were pressed together and drawn under his chin. When he noticed her walk in, he gestured towards John's old chair for her to sit.

After Molly removed her coat and sat down, Sherlock nodded towards the guard. The man stepped into the hall and shut the door behind him.

"I promised him that he could shoot me if I tried to escape." There was a hint of a smile on Sherlock's face and Molly felt herself relax. He seemed more like himself.

"First of all, I want to apologize for the last time you were here. I had no right to treat you like that after everything you've done for me. I'm sorry."

Molly smiled to herself. He obviously had a lot of time to think these days. She wondered what else had been on his mind. "It's okay. I knew there must be a reason."

"Something happened while we were tracking down Moran that I've kept from you. It didn't seem necessary to alarm you at the time since nothing came of it, but-" he paused a moment before continuing. "About six months ago, Mycroft and I started to suspect that Moran had learned about your…connection to me. We received an anonymous tip that he had discovered what you did to help me with Moriarty and we had reason to believe he might try to target you in order to get to me."

Sherlock stood up and began to pace around the room. "There wasn't a direct threat against you, it was only speculation so we decided not to warn you. Instead, we had Mycroft's men watching out for you. There was someone stationed outside your flat and someone was always nearby whenever you went out. You were never in any real danger."

Molly suddenly felt like an idiot. All this was going on and she had no idea.

"One night some weeks later there was…an incident outside your flat." Sherlock looked at her before resuming his pacing. "Mycroft's man noticed a suspicious car and called for backup. I was also contacted and arrived before anyone else. I found our man unconscious in his car. He had been knocked in the head. I then noticed two men trying to pick the lock of your flat. I managed to…disengage them before the rest of Mycroft's men showed up and took them in for questioning. We later discovered that the men had been sent by Moran to…" Sherlock's voice trailed off. He stopped and rested his hand on the top of his chair.

"What were they planning to do to me?" Molly tried to keep her voice still.

"It doesn't matter now-"

"Tell me, Sherlock."

Sherlock walked over to the window so Molly couldn't see his face.

"Most likely they were going to kidnap you to get me to back off. Moran had been made aware of my…regard for you. If they had you, Moran knew he could be in control and get me to do their bidding."

Molly swallowed. "You mean they could control you, if they had me."

"Possibly." After a brief silence, Sherlock turned around and sat back down in his chair. "Anyways, the men were arrested and in exchange for a reduced sentence they told us valuable information about Moran and his network which helped us track him down. Two months later we had him cornered and he knew it. He must have decided that dying was preferable to being back in prison. As you know he was killed in a shootout with the police. Once he was dead, picking off the remaining members of his network was easy."

"Okay…well…this is a lot of information to take in. I would have preferred to been made aware of this when it was happening."

"There was no need to alarm you. Mycroft and I had the situation under control."

"Well, I guess what matters is that nothing happened, though I'm still a little angry about you not telling me. But what does this have to do with what you said the last time I was here?"

"There will always be another Moran or Moriarty, Molly. Something like this could happen again. I can't guarantee your safety. After this near slip…it just put everything into perspective. I've had time to think about it. At first, I thought I could put it behind me, but…it's not fair to you. It's better for you if you stay away from me." His steely focus was now directed at her.

"But what about my say in this? What if I don't want to stay away from you? There are always risks you have to take in life, Sherlock. There are always going to be bad people out there no matter who you are." Molly felt her cheeks turn red with anger.

Sherlock's face showed no emotion.

"Anyone connected to me will always be at greater risk. I'm sorry, Molly, but I can't let you get hurt."

"What if you're hurting me right now? Did you think about that?"

"Your anger will die down eventually. The hurt will go away. The mind is quite remarkable at forgetting. You will move on with your life."

Molly looked down and realized she had been clenching her fists so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. She took a deep breath to calm herself.

"What about you, Sherlock? If you have so called "regard" for me, will you just forget about me too? Would you rather be alone instead of with someone that cares for you? What about John and Mary? Did you tell them to stay away too?"

"John and Mary are both good shots. They can defend themselves and their daughter. I've always been alone so it will have no impact on me." His face twitched. "Molly, trust me it's better this way."

"Better for whom? Your problem is that you always think you know what's best for everyone." She grabbed her coat and put her arms in the sleeves with greater force than was necessary. "I would rather be happy and take risks in life than be miserable and alone. But it takes two to have a relationship. I can't force you, Sherlock. I would tell you I hope you're happy, but apparently happiness is not something you care about."

She slammed the door as hard as she could on her way out.

He wanted to be alone.  _Fine_. He could have his way. She was done trying to convince him after all these years. He could just be miserable. She wanted love. She wanted happiness. And  _damn it_ she was going to find it even if it wasn't with him.

But  _oh_  how badly she wanted it to be him…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of based on my love of stories about second chances such as Persuasion and Jane Eyre (two of my absolute favorite books). I'm using them more as inspiration than doing a retelling. Not sure how long this is going to be yet. The next chapter will be more flashbacks and then we'll get to present day. The title comes from a song I'm obsessed with right now: "Be The One" by Haerts. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

The sadness on Aaron's face remained fixed in Molly's mind long after he had left. After their conversation, she wasn't so sure that remaining friends was still a possibility. He didn't want to be friends. He wanted something more. Something that Molly was not able to give him. After their initial awkwardness, they had managed to chat for a few minutes about mutual friends and their jobs and it seemed like they could end on a good note. But then Aaron asked her once more if her answer was still no. All Molly could do was nod and that was it, there was no more to be said. He told her he hoped she'd be happy. Molly knew that he meant it and that the tinge of hurt in his voice was the result of rejection. They had both invested a lot in the relationship and it was disappointing for her as well to have it end this way.

His last words to her still rang in her ears days later.  _It's him, isn't it?_

She knew whom he meant immediately. Aaron didn't stick around to hear her answer, but she probably wouldn't have been able to give him one anyways. He knew about her complicated relationship with Sherlock from the very beginning. He knew she had loved Sherlock and a piece of her always would. She wanted to be as honest with him about it as possible.

Was it  _him_? Was Sherlock really the reason that she couldn't move any further with someone else? Was it just that she and Aaron weren't meant to be?

How strange it seemed that she and Aaron were now going to be living separate lives after their years together. When they first met there had been such an instant, almost magnetic connection. She had been getting over Sherlock. Aaron had been a breath of fresh air, pulling her out of her lonely misery…

 

* * *

 

"So you'll come won't you, Molly?"

Anna, a fellow pathologist, was throwing a surprise party for her husband and had been asking Molly for the past week if she would come. Molly knew her co-workers could read the sadness on her face since her last conversation with Sherlock three weeks ago. She hadn't exactly tried to hide it and hoped that people would just leave her alone. But it didn't stop them from trying to cheer her up by inviting her to the pub, the movies, and concerts, all of which Molly had refused. She was thankful for their concern, but not enough to take them up on their offers and fake happiness for a night out.

"I don't know, I'm not very good company right now."

"You  _have_  to come. I've invited all of Rob and I's friends from uni so there'll be lots of cute doctors." Anna and Rob had met in medical school. They were newlyweds and made an adorable couple. They were exactly the last people Molly wanted to be around right now. "Come on, I'll fix you up with someone and you'll forget all about that bastard detective."

After minutes of begging and Anna physically blocking the doorway, Molly found herself at last agreeing to go. With the promise of plenty of alcohol, Molly felt that at least if things weren't going well she could always just get pissed.

The day of the party arrived. Molly almost decided to back out at the last minute, but her guilty conscious prevented her. She had made a promise to her friends. Upon arriving at their flat, she realized that this was not going to be a small gathering. It was packed full of people. She always hated big parties. Making small talk with strangers was not her strong suit. How could two people have so many friends?

She made her way inside squeezing through the throngs of people and silently repeating her plan to herself to stay calm. It consisted of making an appearance, having a drink, and escaping as soon as possible. It all changed as soon as Anna introduced her to Aaron.

As soon as Anna saw her arrive, she grabbed her by the hand and practically dragged her over to where Aaron was standing by the makeshift bar.

"Molly, this is Aaron, one of Rob's good friends from Cambridge. He's from Scotland." The last fact she had whispered in Molly's ear, assuming that it would give him extra kudos.

Aaron was cute, there was no doubt about it, but he wasn't exactly Molly's usual type. He was only a few inches taller than her, had light blond hair that was stick straight, and wore dark rimmed spectacles. He was not the sort of man Molly would immediately be drawn to. There was no mystery or air of romance about him. He was an ordinary sort of bloke, which was perhaps just what she needed.

"Aaron, this is Molly. We work together at Bart's, but she's a way better doctor than me. Plus she helps solve crimes-" Anna winced after realizing what she had said, knowing how Molly was trying to get over Sherlock. "Oh sorry, Molly. I didn't mean-"

"It's okay." Molly tried to wave it off, even though she felt a tinge in her heart. "Nice to meet you."

Aaron had perked up at this comment. "You solve crimes? That sounds exciting!"

"It's nothing really. I just help with lab stuff mostly. Anyways, I don't really do it anymore."

Anna excused herself leaving Molly and Aaron alone. She had only planned on saying a few words to be polite, but before she knew it the party was wrapping up. The time had flown by as they chatted. They ended up going to a pub, not wanting the evening to end. Aaron was easy to talk to, had a sarcastic sense of humor that Molly liked, and seemed like an all around nice guy. She tried not to immediately compare him to other men, but it was hard not to think about how different he was from Sherlock and Tom.

Aaron remained in town for the next few days and they spent most of it together. Molly took him to her favorite spots around the city. They held hands and acted like tourists. On his last night in town, they ended up sleeping together. Molly hadn't expected it, especially since they had only known each other for a few days, but it felt like the right way to end their time together. It felt good to hold someone close. For several days she hadn't even thought of Sherlock, but as she lay awake with Aaron asleep next to her she couldn't help but think about when Sherlock stayed at her flat. What if she had joined Sherlock in her bed? What would sex with Sherlock even  _be_  like? She remembered him once saying something about violinists' fingers…

If things had turned out differently it might have been Sherlock asleep next to her right at this moment. She closed her eyes, forcing the thought out her head.

 

* * *

 

After Aaron went back to Glasgow, they stayed in touch via late night phone calls and texts at work. Molly went to visit him a month later. The long distance dating lasted for several months before they both realized it was not sustainable. Something was going to have to change. Their options were obvious: either they break up or someone was going to have to move. Breaking up was out of the question.

Molly imagined Aaron moving to London and becoming of part of her life. He would meet everyone. He would meet Sherlock. It was inevitable.  _Aaron and Sherlock_. She took a deep breath.

Right after Sherlock had met Tom, she knew it was a mistake. From that point on, she couldn't help but always be comparing them. The people around her had commented on their similarities. She hadn't even noticed it before, but it was all she could focus on after. It wasn't fair to Tom and it wouldn't be fair to Aaron. If she and Aaron were going to have a chance, she was going to have to leave London. They needed a fresh start.

After the decision was made, everything else fell into place quickly. She accepted a position at the University of Glasgow where she would be able to continue her research. She gradually moved her things to the new flat that Aaron had found for them to share. She said her goodbyes to friends and the city that for her whole life was home.

And then the last day arrived. Once she walked out of Bart's for the last time, she was immediately catching a train with a one-way ticket to Scotland.

Her co-workers threw her a party. The finality of it hit her while she sipped champagne and gave hugs to people that had become as close as family.

As the day winded down, her head became fuzzy from the alcohol. Feeling the need for a moment alone, she quietly walked out of the noisy break room and headed toward the lab to say her final goodbye.

The room was dark, but she noticed a tall, dark figure standing near the central table. The sudden sight of him made her instantly question everything.

"So this is it then." The deep voice spoke in that hushed tone that always sent shivers down her spine.

"Yes." Up until this point she had managed to keep her emotions in check, but now she felt herself giving in.

"I wish you all the best. You deserve it. It'll be rather difficult finding a new pathologist to work with though. Shame you have to leave."

_This_  speech again. Telling her she deserves happiness yet not considering that he is part of it. He wanted it both ways, her happiness but also keeping their working relationship. He wanted her to stay for his sake without willing to commit himself. Molly knew that Sherlock cared for her. Otherwise he wouldn't have been so upset when Moran targeted her. He pushed her away because he didn't think he could make her happy. He was wrong. If only she could have found a way to convince him, but it was too late for that now.

She shook her head and wiped away the tears that clung to her lower eyelashes.

"Sherlock, I can't stay here  _and_  move on with someone else. We both know that. You made it sound so easy, but it would never work. I have to go."

"I'm sorry." Sherlock spoke quietly. He walked over to her and slowly put his arms around her giving a stiff embrace. It lasted only a second before he pulled away. Molly barely had time to even react as she had been taken by surprise. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he would do something to show her that he was making an effort to change.

"Oh, Sherlock." She sighed and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist holding him as close as she ever had before. It was Sherlock's turn to be caught off guard. After a stunned moment, he drew his arms around her once more, this time not pulling away.

As her head rested against Sherlock's chest, Molly listened to the sound of his heartbeat in contrast with the echo of the clock in the room. She wanted to hold onto this moment forever, but each tick reminded her that while their hearts would continue beating, the time for their relationship was nearly over.

At last, she backed away from him, but not before Sherlock placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

"I'll miss you, Molly Hooper."

The last image she remembered was the swish of his coat as he exited the room.

On the train to Glasgow, she replayed the scene over and over in her head wondering if she was making the right decision.

 

* * *

 

Molly couldn't sleep. She had spent the last few hours tossing and turning unable to get comfortable. When Toby jumped off the bed, no doubt annoyed at her constant movement, she finally gave up trying and headed to the kitchen to make tea. The warm liquid helped to soothe her frazzled state of consciousness. She wrapped up in a huge blanket and settled on the couch.

It had been over a week since her final conversation with Aaron and she hadn't been sleeping well. While she was glad to finally have closure for the relationship, she couldn't help but feel a sense of loneliness. It wasn't just because she had broken up with her longtime boyfriend. That had been coming for a long time. The loneliness was coming from a place that she couldn't pinpoint, a place deep within her soul.

Her mobile woke her the following morning. She looked over at the coffee table where it was buzzing and saw John's name lit up on the screen. He didn't call often though Molly stayed in touch with both he and Mary, mostly through emails and the occasional Facebook post. They were busy with their two young daughters. Molly had visited them on her occasional trips to see friends in London. Each time she was in town she debated about swinging by Baker Street before always deciding against it. John filled her in on the details of their latest cases, but he never really said much else about Sherlock. John wasn't the type to get into the emotional details. It was probably for the best.

"Hello? Molly?"

"John, how are you?"

"Fine. Listen, I'm calling about Sherlock. Something's happened..."

 

* * *

 

Molly looked down and realized she'd been biting her nails again, a bad habit she thought she'd given up long ago. Suddenly she regretted drinking that coffee at the train station prior to boarding. The caffeine had only made her nerves worse. She felt restless and wished for an opportunity to get up and move around.

She tried to focus on the scenery passing by out the window to distract from her thoughts. It didn't help. She looked around at the other passengers and listened in on the passing conversations, but found she had no interest in what anyone was saying. Finally, she closed her eyes and let her mind give into the worry.

She would be seeing Sherlock today. Somehow she always knew this day would come, though she imagined it differently. Not like this. It broke her heart to think about him being in pain. Sherlock was human. He was not as indestructible as he thought.

The phone conversation with John she'd had the previous morning still echoed in her head.

 

* * *

 

"What's happened?" Her heart was throbbing in her chest.

"I should've called you sooner," John cleared his throat and Molly could feel the anxiety build. "About a week ago, Sherlock was in an accident. A drunk driver smashed into his cab. He had two broken legs, a concussion, cuts all over from the broken glass…let's just say if you'd seen the car you'd have wondered how he even survived."

"Oh my God." Molly fell back against the couch feeling the wind knocked out of her lungs.

"I'm sorry I'm just now telling you all this. It's just…it's been really difficult, as you can imagine. I know you've moved on and I debated worrying you when it happened and then I got busy visiting him and…now I see that I should've told you right away. I'm really sorry. Sherlock's been home from the hospital for a couple days now and…well, you know Sherlock. It's crushing him to be taken out of commission and having to be so reliant on everybody. The healing is going to be a slow process. He hasn't been talking much, not even to criticize me, which is you know is unusual for him. Mary and I have been trying to keep a close eye on him, but the girls take up so much of our time. Mrs. Hudson has been doing a lot, bless her, but I think he just needs a friend right now."

Molly didn't know how to respond. John seemed to expect this and continued, "I know this is probably a lot to ask, but I was wondering if you could come and visit him, even for just a day or two. He just needs someone he can trust right now. You could stay with Mary and I, it would be no trouble."

"Well…I…I don't know, John. How do you even know he wants to see me? It's been so long-"

"He's been hinting at it the last few days. I may not have his talent when it comes to deducing but even I can read between the lines. I really think you are exactly what he wants-what he  _needs_  right now."

John continued to plead with her for several more minutes before Molly finally agreed to go to London. Her boss was always telling her to take more vacation and he ended up letting her have a whole week off. In a half daze she packed a bag, arranged for a neighbor to check on Toby, and the following morning found herself on a train back to England.

_Back home,_  she couldn't help but think. She was strangely looking forward to going back, though wishing the circumstances could have been different.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long. I’m such a slow writer and then I tend to edit things into oblivion. Thanks so much for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to split the chapter I was working on into two so that's why it's a little shorter this time. But this way I can get a chapter to you now and hopefully *crosses fingers* another one soon. I know I'm a terribly slow writer. Thanks for sticking with me!

A baby screamed jolting her out of her reverie. Her eyes darted up with the sudden renewed awareness of what happening around her. The crowded train was pulling into a stop and more people shuffled their way onboard. Molly was forced to shift her position and she ended up wedged between a group of chattering, heavily perfumed adolescent girls and a young man with loud techno music streaming through giant headphones. For once, though, she didn't mind being squashed on public transit with all its noises and smells. In fact, she had opted for the Tube over a cab with the very intention of needing to be surrounded by strangers. Being in a public place meant she was forced to keep her emotions in check and focus on other worries like remaining standing upright with the swerve of the train and keeping her bag tucked close to avoid being an easy steal for thieves.

But even so, perhaps living in the city previously had taught her how to worry about multiple things simultaneously (a sort of multitasking), Molly discovered she couldn't keep her mind from drifting to the matter at hand. The matter concerning the man she once loved and how she would be seeing him again in a few short minutes.

It was ludicrous to be this nervous,  _wasn't it_? For God's sake, she wasn't an inexperienced twenty-something-with-a-crush anymore. She was an independent woman making her mark on the world. A  _highly educated_ grown woman with a  _challenging_  yet  _fulfilling_  career…okay, maybe she was getting a little cliché, but she was a doctor,  _damn_   _it_ , that meant something. Looking up briefly, Molly noticed the teen girls staring at her. She must have been saying some of her ruminations out loud. She gave them a forced smile to let them know she wasn't crazy and turned her focus to the windows to resume her stream of consciousness.

…so why, after all this time, did the thought of seeing him again bring back the same emotions?

Though she considered herself a romantic, Molly had decided long ago that the notion of a one-true-love wasn't exactly realistic. As the men came and went, so did love. Sometimes it burned like a fire, other times it was more of a warm glow. The idea of love at first sight was especially absurd,  _and yet_ …meeting Sherlock had changed her life. If it wasn't love, it had been  _something_  at first sight. The feeling was like a constant companion, always nearby. In fact, there wasn't a day that went by, even now, that she didn't think about him or what he was doing at that very moment. Gradually, as they had worked together and had become more acquainted, she had fallen deeply in love with him. There was no doubt about what she felt. Friends had always tried to convince her that what she felt was infatuation; that she was only in awe of his talents. They assumed no one could love a seemingly cold, harsh man like him. But she knew the real Sherlock, the other part of him that was warm and kind. She loved him and she hadn't felt that deep of a connection with anyone since. When she left London, she had buried the feelings and focused on her relationship with Aaron. She loved Aaron, but in a different way. It didn't lessen her feelings for Sherlock. Those feelings for the consulting detective were only tucked away, hidden deep within heart in a dormant state just waiting for the signal to be released once again.

Now it seemed since John's phone call that the signal had arrived. The feelings were stirred from their slumber and had turned her insides into knots. It felt as though she had been waiting for this moment, like everything had been leading up to this…but maybe she was just building it up in her mind. Because she wanted it.  _So badly_.

The train arrived at her stop and she briefly set aside her thoughts to join the throngs of people making their way off the platform and up the escalators. The route was so familiar she could do it blindly. All those years of making this trek to Baker Street came to mind. A secret smile crossed her lips as she remembered those trips, the deliveries of organs and body parts to Sherlock and the lengths she had gone to hiding them from other commuters. Being caught with a lung or two in your bag would probably not have been looked too kindly on by the authorities. In an odd way, she missed it. The things she did not only  _for_  him but also  _with_  him. Solving crimes, being a part of… _something_. To an outsider it would have seemed like an abnormal hobby, bordering on disturbing, but it thrilled her to work along side him. Sherlock shared her passion for the morbid parts of life that no one else liked to talk about. Molly didn't really think of herself as an outsider, but her unusual career made her one. When people at parties discovered what kind of doctor she was, one that didn't heal people but studied why they died, they all had the same "oh that's interesting…" response with raised eyebrows before turning away to talk to someone else. Sherlock was one person that didn't think she was weird. He was himself an outsider with an unusual job. He didn't worry about conforming to what society thought was "normal" and she always appreciated that.

As she emerged onto Baker Street, she realized the nervous feelings she was experiencing were the same ones she had had years before when asking him out for coffee.

Twelve years…how little things changed.

* * *

_Two hours earlier…_

Molly cautiously made her way up the stairs to the Watsons' flat. John was fishing her luggage out of the car after insisting on carrying it up himself. During the car ride from the station, he had made light conversation asking about her trip, the weather in Scotland, carefully avoiding any mention of why she was there. The worry she had felt on the train was forgotten when Mary greeted her warmly at the door with a hug. She ushered Molly in the door with apologies for the mess.

The living room floor was strewn with toys, papers with crayon drawings in various stages of completion, and children's picture books. It was obviously a well-loved, lived-in space. The mess was oddly comforting to Molly. It eased her mind to know that the Watsons had settled into a normal family life, no matter how very abnormal their past lives really were.

"The girls are so excited to have you here, they've been talking about you nonstop. They're busy cleaning their rooms at the moment. You probably won't believe me but this is what it looks like after we've tidied up." Mary waved her arms around and began to pick up some of the papers off the floor. John walked into the room and set Molly's bags by the door.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sorry for barging into your home like this."

John took her coat. "Nonsense, we're very glad you could come and on such short notice. Sherlock will be very glad to see you."

Before Molly could open her mouth to respond, the two young Watson girls ran into the room bubbling with energy.

Amelia was now nearly eight and had grown quite a bit taller since Molly had last seen her. She had pale blond hair like her mother that was gathered into two long plaits. Four-year-old Jane followed closely behind her sister, her curly light brown hair bounced along with each movement she made. They both came to a halt upon seeing their new guest and gave her wide-eyed inquisitive stares.

Mary picked up Jane and kissed the side of her face. "Girls, remember Molly? She's going to be staying with us for a few days while she's in town visiting Uncle Sherlock."

Amelia walked over to Molly with a very serious expression on her precious face. "Uncle Sherlock got hurt."

Molly squatted down so that she could meet her eye-level and put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. "I know. I'm here to help cheer him up a bit and hopefully make him feel a little better. We used to be good friends a long time ago."

Amelia tilted her head and focused on Molly intently. "Why aren't you still friends?"

Leave it to children to ask simple questions that had the most complicated answers. "Well, I moved away and things…were different."

"Are you going to be friends again?" Amelia didn't miss a beat.

"I don't know. I hope so. I mean, I don't think we ever stopped being friends. I suppose I'll find out once I see him." Molly stood up and gave Amelia a small smile hoping to relieve her of any concern about their friendship status.

"Mel, how about you fetch Molly some biscuits from the cupboard and we'll come meet you in the kitchen." Amelia ran off to follow her mother's bidding, but not before wrapping her arms around Molly's waist for a quick embrace. Molly shared a smile with Mary at her daughter's sweet gesture. "Would you like some tea?"

"Sure, that'd be great, thanks."

Jane whispered something into her mother's ear. "Oh yes, I quite forgot. The girls helped bake some cookies yesterday. Do you like Snickerdoodles?"

"I'd love some." Molly winked at Jane who smiled shyly back before burying her face into her mother's neck.

Mary and Jane headed to the kitchen leaving John and Molly alone. The silence felt heavy. The obvious matter at hand was both weighing on their minds. After Amelia's questions, Molly couldn't bare it any longer.

"How is he?"

John took in a deep breath before settling into a worn armchair by the fireplace. Molly followed suit, sitting on the chair opposite. "I saw him yesterday and told him about your plans. He tried to play it real casual, but I'd say it was the most energetic he's looked in a long time. In fact, he started criticizing me which is always a good sign that he's feeling like himself." John cracked a smile and Molly returned it.  _Sherlock being Sherlock_.

"I know it's been awhile since you two have seen each other. Just don't get frustrated if he doesn't seem approachable at first. He's been pushing everybody away since you know… and now I think he's used to it, like he's reverted back to his old ways before I met him. Be patient. Give it time. I know he'll warm up to you. He always does."

"It's been so long, John. Maybe we have both changed and moved on."

Instead of responding, John stood up and went to a desk in the corner of the room. He began rifling through several stacks of paper searching for something. After a moment, with an exclamation he pulled out a handful of sheets and brought them to Molly.

"Take a look."

Molly immediately recognized the title page, it as her own work. There were several of her research papers that had been carefully stapled together and numbered with handwritten dates scrawled at the top. She could recognize that crooked handwriting anywhere.

"My papers…"

John nodded, clearly having anticipated her surprise. "When Sherlock was in the hospital after his accident, I went over to Baker Street to fetch some things and I noticed these sitting on his desk. These are just a couple of them. I think he has all your papers, and reads them too."

Molly flipped through the dog-eared pages and noticed more handwritten notes and underlined passages. "But…why would Sherlock want my papers? They're not exactly page turners."

When John didn't answer, she glimpsed up and saw him studying her reaction patiently, like he was waiting for her to figure out the answer herself. Mary popped her head in the door breaking the silence to let them know that the tea was ready in the kitchen. John stood and looked at her pointedly. "Why would Sherlock keep track of your work, read every word you've ever written, follow your progress with your research?" He leaned over to rest a friendly hand on her shoulder. "I think you know why, Molly."

Molly was left alone in the room feeling a mix of confusion and hopefulness. Did John mean what she thought he meant? Why else would Sherlock keep track of what she was up to all these years?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock will finally make an appearance in the next chapter I promise. Thanks for all the follows/kudos/comments/kind words. I really appreciate it! See you in the new year!


	4. Chapter 4

_221B_. The gold numbers gleamed against the contrasting dull, dark background. It was an entrance to a parallel London world, a door through which she had entered so many times before eager to be a part of. There were so many memories attached to this place, it was impossible to stand in front of the building without having them cloud her mind. It looked exactly as she had remembered, as if nothing had changed since those times. She stepped back on the pavement to gaze at the familiar stone and brick Baker Street façade. A flash of movement in the window caught her eye, but was too quick to ascertain its source.

It was as if the past six years had been wiped away. Here she was standing in front of this building once again, older in years but at the moment not feeling any wiser for it. She had thought about this moment so often, unsure if it would ever materialize-and yet it did. It was as though the universe had planned it this way all along and was having a good laugh at her and the cleverness of it all.

_No turning back now_.

With a final deep breath, she pressed her finger lightly on the buzzer. A moment of silence was followed by a flurry of motion. The heavy door swung open revealing Mrs. Hudson in her usual apron, flour dusting the sleeves of her dress. She looked a little more fragile than Molly remembered which brought her back to the present. It was a reminder of the passing of time.

"Oh, Molly, dear! Come in!" Even though she didn't appear as sprightly as once before, Mrs. Hudson still had a surprising amount of strength which Molly felt as she was drawn in the door by the arm.

Before Molly could open her mouth Mrs. Hudson was giving her a hug and expressing her gratitude for Molly's visit in a thousand words.

"When John called to say you were coming-oh, I couldn't believe it! I thought to myself many times the past few weeks 'if only Sherlock had someone else, someone to cheer him up' and then I heard you were coming and thought 'Molly will be perfect for him right now'. You two were always close. It's been so difficult for him, for all of us. I try to do what I can, but I'm not sure it's enough."

"I'm sure you've been a tremendous help to him. You've always been so good to Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson. He's very lucky to have you."

"He's like a son to me. I'd do anything I could to help him. It was so hard to see him after…" Mrs. Hudson voice trembled and she let out a small sob. Molly wrapped her arms around Mrs. Hudson's thin frame, patting her gently on the back. After a couple minutes of sniffling on Molly's shoulder, Mrs. Hudson straightened her spine with renewed vigor and wiped the tears on her face with a tissue retrieved from her apron pocket.

"I suppose one must keep a stiff upper lip. The doctors said it could have been much worse. He could have been permanently injured, or even…" Her voice trailed off, unable able to say the word that they both wanted to avoid.

"You're right. We can be happy knowing it could've been much worse and wasn't." Molly hoped to cheer her up, but wasn't sure she was doing a good job at it. "I'm just glad I could come and hopefully be of some use."

"You're so kind, dear." Mrs. Hudson sniffed one last time and appeared eager to change the subject. Molly noticed her eyes flicker over at her left hand. Last time she'd seen Mrs. Hudson there'd been a ring there and Mrs. Hudson was no fool.

"How's Scotland? Are you still with-?" Her eyes squinted as she attempted to remember the name.

"Aaron? No-I-we actually broke up. It…uh…didn't work out." Molly always felt weird talking about her break-up. It felt like people were expecting her to be sad about it when she was more relieved to be moving on than anything.

Mrs. Hudson seemed to pick up on this. "Oh, so sorry about that, dear." Her face did not look empathic, however. In fact, she looked pleasantly surprised.

Without warning, Mrs. Hudson began nudging Molly up the stairs. "You should head on up, he's expecting you. I'm sure you both have a lot to catch up on."

"I-well…" but Mrs. Hudson had already returned to her flat putting an end to the conversation. Apparently she did not want to delay Molly any longer-

_Oh dear_ , she hoped she had not given Mrs. Hudson reason to play matchmaker. Molly had heard about her other attempts.

Now that she was alone, Molly looked around her for the first time and breathed in the familiar scent of the Baker Street dwelling. In the past few years there had been odd moments when she thought she could almost smell it. On one chilly night she had dug out an old jumper from her closet and as she pulled it over her head she was transported back to London. That oaky, slightly musty scent mixed with disinfectant and Mrs. Hudson's baking, the smells of old books and Sherlock's lingering aftershave, of dust and hardwood floors. The homey smells of Baker Street.

_Home_.

Molly slowly made her way up the creaky stairs, treading lightly trying not to disturb the silence that seemed to weigh so heavily on the moment. As she reached the landing, she let out a deep breath that she'd unconsciously been holding onto.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

With a slightly quicker step, she reached his door and knocked before she could talk herself out of it.

"Come in." The deep voice spoke from within. She tried to detect any feeling in his voice. Expectation? Excitement? Nervousness? But the tone was flat, emotionless.

She paused a nervous moment to run a hand through her hair and adjust her scarf before pushing the door open. The bright light shining in the windows temporarily blinded her where she stood in the dark of the hallway. Her eyes drifted around the familiar room while adjusting to the light before they settled on him. Their eyes locked, neither wanting to be the first to look away. Every thought she had formed prior, everything she had planned to say at this moment were wiped away in one look.

It was like seeing a ghost. A living, breathing memory from her past haunting her in the present.

After an unknown amount of time passed and she became aware of where she was and what was happening, Molly was finally able to take in his whole appearance. He was sitting in his usual chair in a dark blue dressing gown and plaid pyjama bottoms. If it weren't for the casts on his lower legs, the nearby wheelchair, and the crutches that lay on the floor, nothing would have stood out as different. Though as she moved closer to him, she noticed the more subtle differences. His hair was in need of a good trim; the dark curls looked more wild and unkempt. Several days' worth of stubble shadowed his face. Molly had only ever seen him clean-shaven. It added a maturity to his usual youthful looks. He also had several new wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. There were a few minor scrapes and bruises on his face and hands.

Despite everything though, he was still the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. Even after all the years, even after a serious accident, those clear blue eyes gazing at her still made her heart crumble.

He was the first to break the silence. "You've put on eight pounds since I last saw you."

She couldn't help but smile. It was a nod to their previous life, a reminder that he remembered her. "Six and a half."

A smile flickered at the corners of his mouth, before immediately returning back to its serious countenance. He sighed heavily.

"You shouldn't have come here."

The happiness she had just begun to feel was blown to pieces. John had warned her of this and yet the words still stung. "Nice to see you too, Sherlock." There was an edge to her words that she couldn't hide.

Molly began to worry that her presence was more of a burden than a comfort. Perhaps he didn't need reminders of his past right now.

There was no way she could leave after coming all this way. Not yet. Sherlock was watching her closely, as if he wanted to see the shock on her face at his condition. Molly felt suddenly awkward, but refused to let him see any of her weakness. As a way of deflecting his gaze, she sat in John's old chair trying to keep her face expressionless even though it broke her heart to see him battered and bruised.

"I see you broken things off with-what's-his-name," He spoke flippantly.

Molly shifted uncomfortably in the chair. This was not the conversation she wanted to have. "You know his name and I guess you're going to explain how you figured that out."

"If you insist. Your hair has been recently cut. It's shorter than you've ever worn it before.  _He_  liked it longer as I recall-"

"Wait what? I don't ever remember telling-"

"You didn't. I observed."

Molly should have known. She wondered what other things about Aaron he had deduced from the start. "Okay but I could have just wanted a new hairstyle."

Sherlock ignored her. "You have dark circles under your eyes-not sleeping well? But you're not worried about him, are you? If  _he_  broke it off with  _you_ , you wouldn't have cut your hair. No,  _you_  wanted a fresh start.  _You_  broke it off with  _him_. You were worried about coming here."

Molly held up her hand to silence him. "Hold on. John already told you all of this, didn't he?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, looking defiant. He seemed to want to get a rise out of her. It was just like Sherlock to turn it into a challenge. "Molly, just because I don't have the use of my legs at present, doesn't mean my brain also has been rendered useless."

"But John told you about my break-up, didn't he?"

"Y-yes." He looked down at his hands, annoyed at having to admit the truth.

" _I_  may have ended it, but it wasn't easy. For your information I loved Aaron very much."

Sherlock head snapped back to focus directly at Molly. "But you wouldn't marry him, would you?"

Molly felt her defenses rising up and her hands clenching into fists. "No. He asked, several times actually, but I couldn't…"

"Molly, even I could've told you it would never happen."

He might as well just have punched her in the stomach.  _Why was he doing this?_

"Just because I couldn't marry him doesn't mean I didn't love him."

"But you didn't love him enough."

The room had become suffocating. She couldn't breathe. The meeting had turned into a disaster and she couldn't stay any longer. "I think I'll just take off."

Molly made it to the door before Sherlock stopped her.

"Wait." She turned around and saw his head bowed. "Molly, don't go. I don't know why I-" He rubbed his temples, grimacing slightly. He was obviously in pain, but she wasn't sure if it was more physical or emotional.

Molly wavered at the threshold before speaking quietly, "Do you even want me here, Sherlock? Did you really want me to come to London?"

He looked directly at her, his face unable to hide its surprise. "Of course." His Adam's apple in his throat bobbed as he swallowed before looking away from her once more. " I just didn't want to see you like…this. A broken man."

There was no doubt physical pain, but the emotional toll was what had taken a hold of him. Sherlock was a proud man. He took pride in his appearance and his abilities. He liked being in control and dictating his own circumstances. Having her see him in such a weakened state was what was causing him to lash out.

Molly walked back to him and gently placed her hand on his. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that this happened to you."

"Sorry? Why are you sorry?" His forehead wrinkled as he pondered her meaning. Molly wasn't sure if Sherlock understood why people cared for him.

"I'm sorry that you were hurt." Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes that she willed herself to hold in.

Sherlock shifted in the chair, unsuccessfully trying to hide another grimace. "Well, you had nothing to do with it so you have no reason to apologize."

"Look, let's start over." Molly stood up and headed back towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"We're pretending this didn't happen." She poked her head back in the room. "And no weight comments this time."

Sherlock smirked. "Molly…"

Molly knocked on the door once again and re-entered the room pretending to be oblivious to what had happened. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the charade but his smile let her know that he was pleased she stayed.

They talked for next two hours catching up on their lives during the past six and a half years. Sherlock told her about the cases he'd solved. Molly told him about the research paper she'd just finished, but didn't mention John's discovery. Sherlock revealed nothing about having read any of her work. The conversation flowed easily and even they were even able to gently tease each other as the friends that they were. It felt like old times. They had both seemed to breathe a sigh of relief after their initial difficultly reconnecting and could behave normally once again. It was the Sherlock she had known, and loved.

When she was in the middle of explaining her one of her recent autopsies, she noticed Sherlock's eyelids start to droop.

"I've worn you out. I should go."

"No-I…" His protests were in vain though as it was obvious his exhaustion had caught up to him finally. "Would you come back tomorrow?" His voice was so quiet, barely rising above a whisper.

"If that's what you want."

He nodded sleepily.

"You should get some rest." Unable to resist the rare opportunity of a somewhat sedated Sherlock, Molly combed a few stray curls from his forehead and pressed her lips gently to its surface. His skin was warm and the heat from the contact remained on her lips as she pulled away.

"Sherlock, I just want you to know you're not alone. I'm here for you, I always have been. You'll get through this. Before you know it, you'll be running through the streets of London again." Her tone was hushed as she spoke inches away from his ear. She could hear his slow breathing. The room had grown incredibly silent. There was no sound of traffic in the street. Even Mrs. Hudson had stopped her bustling in the kitchen down below. It was as if the whole world had come to a standstill.

Sherlock's eyebrows rose briefly, not in their usual look of annoyance, but in one of slight astonishment. He didn't respond, but she felt his eyes follow her as she left the flat.

As she stepped onto the pavement, Molly's eyes flooded with tears. She had tried to keep her composure and not let him see how much she was hurting for him. But now, standing on the once again busy street with cars speeding by and pedestrians passing by her lost in their own worlds, she allowed herself to cry for him, for the unfairness of it all, for everything that kept them apart.

A song ran through her head as she headed back to the Tube station suiting her melancholy mood.

_With the loneliness of you mighty men_ __  
_with your mighty kiss_ __  
_that might never, never end_ __  
_while so far away, in the seat of the West_ __  
_burns the fount of the heat of that loneliness_ __  
_There's a man who only will speak in code_ __  
_backing slowly, slowly down the road_ __  
_May he master everything that such men may know_ _  
_ _about loving, and letting go._

* * *

He couldn't take his eyes off of her as she quietly exited the flat with soft footsteps and gently shut the door behind her. To actually see her standing in his flat again, a living, breathing actual person, not just a figment in his mind…it didn't seem real. For the past few years, she had only lived in his head, a permanent fixture of his mind palace that kept him company through the years.

_Six years. Seven months. Twelve days. Nineteen hours. Twenty-three minutes._

He always stored facts and details, bits of information about people that seemed important. When it came to Molly Hooper, he remembered other things: the fact that she bit her bottom lip when she was nervous and thinking of the appropriate thing to say, those warm brown eyes that always seemed to read all his thoughts, her habit of flipping her hair over her shoulder and how she amusingly still did it even though it was now cut.

Molly Hooper. He closed his eyes.  _Why_? Why  _her_? It wasn't logical. It didn't make sense.

Good, kind, warm, caring, loving. She was everything he was not. He had made a mistake many years ago letting her go and doing nothing to convince her to stay with him. He had figured he didn't deserve her. He would never be able to live with himself if she got hurt.

And in a cruel twist of fate, he was the one who had gotten hurt. Served him right for all the terrible things he'd said to Molly through the years. If someone had to get hurt, he was glad it was him.

When the accident had happened, something in him had given up. What did it matter? He had let go the person he cared for most and without the distraction of work he was forced to dwell on it. He was alone in his flat. There was always John, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson to keep him company. He knew they cared for him as he did for them. But the person he wanted and cared for  _the most_  was gone.

Now here she was. If the accident had allowed the chance of seeing her again, Sherlock Holmes would suffer a hundred times over if it meant having Molly in his life again.

Thanks to his pride and his damn mouth, he'd almost screwed it all up in a fraction of a second. This was his second chance. He couldn't mess it up again.

He closed his eyes and let his body give into its fatigue.

The mismatched brightly colored, patterned jumpers. That warm smile that radiating off of her face. The soft voice ringing in his ears.  _Molly Hooper_. The name he whispered as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 

The following afternoon Molly met with a few of her old co-workers from Bart's for lunch. As they swapped stories about their most unusual recent autopsies, Molly became aware of how much she missed life in London. It wasn't just the people, her friends and colleagues, it was also the sights and sounds, the hustle and bustle, the hum of activity that permeated every aspect of living in the city.

When it was time for them to head back to the hospital, she tagged along unable to resist seeing her former workplace again. Being over eight hundred years old, Bart's had changed a lot in its history, though it happened so slowly one barely noticed it. A few short years was a mere blink of an eye in the history of its existence, but even so Molly noticed a few new updates to the place, mainly in the form of new lab equipment and personnel changes. The lab looked exactly minus the few new upgrades. She ran her fingers along the smooth surface of the worktable where she had spent many an hour performing tests.

_Home_. The word, the feeling, the place. It had refused to leave her brain since she had arrived. At first, she'd tried to push it away from her thoughts, but now she let herself acknowledge its presence. She'd felt it as she stepped onto the London train station platform. She'd felt it at Baker Street. Now, she felt it again standing in the Bart's lab.  _Home_  was something she'd always struggled to define. But coming back, she realized it was something that one felt, the sense of a place that one carried with them. She thought she'd lost  _home_  when her father passed away, her last remaining family member.  _Home_  was something she had been unknowingly searching for since, and now…the yearning in her heart told her that she had it here and she'd left it behind. It was a rather startling revelation and she couldn't help but feel distressed at the thought of leaving again.

Her friends had to get back to work forcing Molly to regretfully say her goodbyes. She had almost made her way out the door, gloomily dwelling on her recent thoughts when a familiar voice called out her name. Mike Stamford appeared racing from around the corner of the hallway. He was gasping for breath, his face red from the exercise. His hair had gone completely grey but he still maintained his youthful features. Poor hard working, kind-hearted Mike, she missed her former boss and mentor, though they had managed to keep in touch by email.

"Molly! I just heard from Suzy that you were here. I had to catch you before you left." He spoke in between deep gulps of air.

"It's so good to see you, Mike. Still keeping all those new residents in line I see."

"Yes, though it's getting harder to keep up with this new generation." He paused to catch his breath. "Listen, I don't have much time to talk but there is something I wanted to speak with you about. A position. Hasn't been made public yet, but I wanted to see if you had any interest."

Molly swallowed. "Really? An opening here?"

"Remember Dr. Elliot? He's retiring at the end of the month. Just announced it the other day to a few of us. Nothing's official yet, but…I know you're in Scotland now and probably not interested in coming back, but it would be a promotion. You would be teaching new residents as well as being able to continue with your research work. Less of the tedious stuff, you know."

She had secretly coveted Dr. Elliot's job during her whole time at Bart's. The older man had seemed to be planning on dying at his desk. "I see," she spoke playing down her surprise and interest.

"You don't have to make up your mind right away, but just think about it and give me a call. You know I'll put in a good word for you."

"Thanks for telling me about it, Mike. I will-think about it, that is."

"It would be great to have you back. You were- _are_  one of our best doctors. " He looked down at his watch. "Damn, I'm late! Got to run. Keep in touch!"

With a final wave, he disappeared down the hall as quickly as he had appeared.

"Well this certainly is an interesting development," she said to the blank white walls before turning on her heels to exit the building.

In that brief exchange, her whole outlook had changed. Just the possibility of it made her wonder.

_Maybe I could come back._

Perhaps something was drawing her back to London after all. The stars aligning, fate intervening-whatever it was, it felt like  _something_  was happening. Molly had a bad habit of easily getting her hopes up only to have them dashed in the end. But she couldn't help but feel a change was happening. Suddenly everything around her had become a little brighter, the people she passed by seem to smile back at her, and the air smelled a bit fresher. Even the sun peaked from behind the grey clouds to fit her mood.

With a newfound spring in her step and a foolish grin on her face, Molly set off for Baker Street. The hope in her heart had been rekindled and she couldn't wait to see Sherlock again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Molly thinks of leaving Sherlock's is "Go Long" by Joanna Newsom, which I was listening to while writing this and thought fit rather well. Lately I can't help but think of my OTP when listening to music.
> 
> As always thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the major delay! This chapter gave me fits for some reason. Also I started a new job (yay!) that cuts into my writing time (boo!).

“Sherlock, you look like you should be begging out on the street corner. She’s never going to have you when you’re looking like a mess.”

“Well, it hardly matters now that I’m practically an invalid now does it, Mrs. Hud-- _Have me?_ What exactly are you getting at anyways?”

“I think you know exactly _what I’m getting at_ , young man.”

Their raised voices were easily overheard in the hallway where Molly stood casually eavesdropping. She couldn’t help but smile at their almost mother-and-son way of bickering. It was a relationship that had always given Molly comfort especially when she was living far away. Just knowing that Mrs. Hudson was there at Baker Street watching out for Sherlock and keeping him grounded gave her peace of mind. As long as Mrs. Hudson was around there was someone that had Sherlock’s back but who also could tell him off when he needed a reality check.

As she adjusted her footing while trying to smother a giggle, the floorboard creaked forcing her to open the door and reveal herself from hiding.

A bored looking Sherlock sat in his wheelchair near the fireplace while Mrs. Hudson stood in front of him, hands on her hips and a look of exasperation on her face. She paused mid-scold when Molly walked in the room and hurried over to greet her.

“Oh hello dear! Perfect timing! I was just trying to convince Sherlock to fix himself up a bit. Perhaps you can help me convince him.”

He folded his arms and scowled at Mrs. Hudson.

“Hm.” Molly cocked her head playfully and decided to give him a bit of trouble. “She’s right, Sherlock. You are looking a little…rough around the edges.”

Now he turned his scowl towards her.

Molly ignored it, went straight to his desk, and began to rummage through the drawers.

“What are you doing? That was all in order,” he complained gruffly.

“If by _order_ you mean a jumbled mess…” she raised an eyebrow at him before continuing with her search. “Mrs. Hudson, do you happen to know where Sherlock keeps a pair of scissors?”

Mrs. Hudson’s face lit up at the request and she joined Molly in her hunt.

“I’m still here you know,” he protested but it went ignored as the two ladies ravaged through the flat. After a vigorous search, Mrs. Hudson at last produced a pair of scissors from a kitchen drawer.

Molly took them and with a teasing smile melodramatically waved them in the air. “We’re going to fix that mess on your head you call hair?”

“What?!” he exclaimed, squirming in his seat.

Mrs. Hudson laughed heartily. “I think I’ll leave you two to it then.” She winked at Molly and left.

Molly started to wheel Sherlock to the bathroom but he planted his feet on the floor preventing her from doing so.

“ _Molly_ …” he spoke with genuine worry in his voice.

“Don’t be scared, Sherlock. I practice cutting hair on corpses all the time.”

“Really?” This seemed to spark a morbid interest in him.

“No!” She laughed. “I have cut various boyfriends’ hair before though.”

“Remind me again how many of those relationships worked out.”

She gently smacked his shoulder. “I’ll have you know that they were all satisfied with the results. I’m quite good really. Come on, please? Just this once.”

A bit of pleading and an innocent smile seemed to change Sherlock’s mind at last. He sighed dramatically and shrugged with an air of indifference that only made Molly more determined to brighten his mood.

It took a bit of practice learning how to maneuver his wheelchair as the casts on his legs added an extra weight for her to push. When they reached the kitchen, it became clear to her that his chair could not fit through the narrow doorways of the old building. Molly realized for the first time the difficulties he had been dealing with being stuck in his flat. It was not a spacious place to begin with, much less so for a man with two broken legs.

“On second thought I think the kitchen will be better--more space for me to work in,” she said hoping to avoid any awkwardness for him.

After a quick survey of his bathroom, she retrieved a few necessary items including a comb, towel, and mirror and laid them on the table with precision just as she would when preparing for an autopsy.

The Adam’s apple bobbed in Sherlock’s throat as he looked at her warily. “Suddenly I do feel like one of your corpses.”

“Oh sorry, just my habit.”

“Do you really know what you’re doing?” he asked, watching her inquisitively as she wrapped the towel around his shoulders.

“Of course. I grew up cutting my dad’s…” she began before happening to catch Sherlock’s eye. The last thing she wanted to do at the moment was bring up an emotional topic, especially one that Sherlock was well aware of. As deftly as possible she switched topics, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Look at this hair. You’ve got so much. I would’ve killed for hair like yours, mine has always just hung straight.”

It felt surreal to be running her fingers through his silky mess of curls. It was a fantasy she’d had long ago when she used to stand next to him in the lab and breathe in the scent of his shampoo as he leaned over the microscope. Here she was years later finally getting to live out that dream. It wasn’t the sexy environment she’d originally imagined in her dreams, but there was still something intimate about touching him even after all the time that had passed.

After dampening his hair with a wet comb to help make the disorderly strands more manageable, Molly began gathering sections between her fingers and trimming ever so carefully. Remembering how vain Sherlock was about his looks in the past made her take extra precaution and strive to impress him with one of her hidden talents. She marveled at the fact that his hair was still as dark as ever with no traces of grey. Her own hair now sported several grey strands and she had been debating whether to take the trouble and dye it or not. Middle age seemed yet to hit Sherlock.

There was a comfortable silence between them as she worked. Their long history of working side-by-side made it feel as natural as it had been once before. By the time she was finished, the floor was covered with dark clumps and a once again recognizable man sat in the chair. She stood in front of him, combing his now shorter locks with her fingers and adding a few finishing touches while his eyes studied her with quiet consideration.

“Voila!” she exclaimed, stepping back to admire her handiwork. 

“Are you ever going to let me see or is it that terrible?” he remarked dryly.

“I don’t want to get too cocky _but_ I think you’ll be rather pleased.” Molly smiled as she handed him the mirror to let him get a glimpse for himself.

His furrowed brow relaxed a bit as he gingerly studied his reflection. “Hm. Adequate.”

“ _Adequate_? I think it’s one of my best jobs yet considering what I had to work with. Maybe I should forget this whole doctor thing.”

“Don’t quit your day job, Molly. The corpses of Glasgow need you,” he spoke with an earnest gleam in his eye making her laugh, but it was only at that moment that she recalled her earlier conversation with Mike Stamford and the uncertainty of her future in that city. Before she had been bursting to tell Sherlock but now she felt nervous about the prospect.

Sherlock had begun to fidget in his seat once again and appeared to be done with the whole ordeal.

“So we’re finished then.”

“Finished? No sir, we still have _this_ to take care of,” she spoke gently running her fingers along his bristle on his chin. The brief contact with the roughness on his face reminded her of the brief moment before a match, once struck, burst into flames. 

Returning to his bathroom, she paused for a minute to stare at her refection in the mirror and will her racing heart to slow down. _Get a grip, Molly. You’re not twenty-five anymore._ After a moment’s repose, she located his razor and shaving cream and straightened her spine with a renewed determination. Once back in the kitchen, she wheeled Sherlock closer to the sink that she had filled with warm water and sat on the countertop in front of him.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” she said as she lathered his face. “I ran into Mike Stamford earlier and he let me know about a job that is opening up soon at Bart’s.”

Sherlock’s eyes locked onto hers. The words hung in the air between them while she began to gently shave the course stubble off his face. 

He didn’t speak until she was finished and wiping the remaining traces of shaving cream off his face. When he finally did his words were calculated as though he had thought carefully about his wording. “Is it something you would consider?”

Molly lay the towel down and leaned back, propping her hands on the counter. “I don’t know I’ve barely had time to think about it. It would be a promotion for me. I’d get to do more research and some teaching as well. I’d also get to move back here and work with my old friends again. I do miss London.” Her voice trailed off as she thought about the time she’d spent with her old colleagues earlier in the day and the difficulty she’d had saying goodbye. 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Sherlock asked, bringing her back to the present.

“I don’t know honestly. I just thought you’d want to know. If you had any thoughts I’d be glad to hear them.”

“I think only you can decide what’s best for you and your career, Molly.” Sherlock clasped his hands in his lap and cleared his throat. Was is just her or did his voice contain the slightest hint of nerves?

“That being said, I would not be unhappy to see you back at Bart’s again.”

It was a typical Sherlock way of distantly giving enthusiasm. Molly couldn’t help but smile. “If that’s you’re way of welcoming back then maybe I should just stay in Scotland,” she teased.

But the joke seemed to register with Sherlock differently. He reached his hand foreword and gently let it rest on hers. “I’m not good with words when it comes to these things, which you are well aware of. What I mean to say is that I’d be glad to have you back, not only because I value your work, but because I value your company as well.”

He removed his hand and rolled his chair backwards so quickly that she barely had time to react.

The sudden and sincere words had caught her off guard and it took a moment for what he had said to sink in.

“So I suppose we’re done here,” he said changing the subject.

“Uh, yes, I’ll just put all this back,” she said jumping down from the counter and began to clear off the table.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said waving her off. She tried insisting again but he wouldn’t hear of it. “You’ve done enough.”

“I hope you’re pleased with…everything.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Molly.”

“Well, I should probably be going. I told Mary and John I’d help out with dinner tonight and I’ve yet to decide what to make.”

“Your fettuccine is very good as I recall.”

“I forgot all about that. I don’t think I’ve made that since--” The memory of that night hit her with such a sudden force that she could almost hear the clink of the cutlery on her mismatched floral plates and feel the glow of the candle that had cast such a warmth on his usually severe features, “--well, since that night when you stopped by after Christmas. God, I can’t believe how many years that’s been.”

“Well then I’d say it’s high time you made it again, wouldn’t you?”

Molly smiled and nodded. There was a noticeable lightness about him since she had brought up the idea of returning. Her heart swelled. Knowing that he was in favor of her coming back gave her yet another reason to return. It seemed more than just a possibility now, it seemed real.

“I’ll see you later, Sherlock.”

“Molly,” he returned. Just her name spoken out loud sounded so intimate coming from his lips.

As she was leaving, Mrs. Hudson popped out of her doorway. “From the looks of you dear, it seems like it went well.”

Molly beamed unable to hide her happiness. “It went very well. I don’t think you’ll recognize him. He’s a new man.”

Mrs. Hudson took her hands and looked at her with eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so glad you’re back."

“I am too, Mrs. Hudson. I am too.”

Little did she know that Molly’s stay might end up being a permanent one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! Hopefully it won’t take me months to get the next chapter written.


End file.
